


Stories from Morpheus

by Tobi_Black



Series: Til the End of the Line [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Barnes Family & Foul Language & Violence, First Meetings, Gen, Howling Commandoes are Magnets for Trouble, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-04 17:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobi_Black/pseuds/Tobi_Black
Summary: Any scenes that occur prior to Part Two, or in Waking Dreams, that just don't make it in.





	1. Bucky's Enlistment

**Author's Note:**

> So as stated, these are the unseen scenes. Whether this is because I just couldn't work it into Waking Dreams, is from a different viewpoint, or occurs while the Boys are frozen, these are stories straight from the God of Dreams, memories he shares as relevant (but not necessary) to Til the End of the Line.
> 
> This one is the unseen scene of Bucky's enlistment, tattoos and all.  
> Here you go, Tigrislilium!

Bucky was stalking the streets of Brooklyn, a frown heavy on his face in the early morning. He’d left Stevie asleep, and had tiptoed like a thief out of their home. He knew that if he’d stayed until Steve got up, not needing to be at the recruitment center until 0800 when it was just past 0500, that he would have stayed for good. He’d know that he’d get charged with skipping out on the draft, and Steve would have been a mix of happy-you-won’t-leave and disappointed-in-you-for-not-doing-your-duty, and would have felt (a little) guilty when Steve turned his righteousness on him for not going. But it was the heavy fine that had convinced him – he’d been asking some of the other boys in the shipyard what happened when the draft was skipped, and beyond the jail time, there was a fine. Three hundred dollars. They couldn’t afford that.

When he got the recruitment center, he paused, straightened himself up so that he looked presentable, and sauntered right in with a wide smile a little too sharp to be friendly.

He didn’t even try to hide the ring tattoos on his hands, may have purposely flashed them in the face of the recruiter who took his draft letter. He wasn’t above intimidation after all; if by scaring someone in charge of whether he was a 1A or 4F, to fail him out of fear of what he could do in retaliation, meant that he could go back to Steve and say he’d tried, he would do so in a heartbeat.

Only, the man didn’t recognize them.

He rolled up his sleeves to showcase the wonderful rendition of a prowling, agitated tiger done by Stevie over his right forearm. And nothing.

His grin may have gotten a bit bigger when he saw another draftee, looking curiously at him as another new arrival, blanch when he saw the tattoo.

The man looked close to fainting when he saw the one on his left forearm, also done by Steve, of a bull pawing the ground with razor-sharp horns.

That amused him, and the recruiter didn’t seem to know so that route wasn’t working, so he turned around and leaned his back against the desk, using his left hand to fill out the stupid forms required, and stretched his right arm out so the man could see that riding the tiger was a monk writing in a book with a quill pen.

The way the man seemed on the verge of fainting almost made up for how annoyed he was about having to leave Steve.

When it came for the medical exam, he stripped off his shirt at the earliest opportunity, giving the whole room a shit-eating grin still with a too sharp edge, gesturing at himself, “Like what you see?”.

The one recruit he’d been taunting all day by this point with glimpses of a joker across the back of his left hand, a snake around his neck, the six pointed stars on his knees, the black widow spider climbing up a cobweb on his right elbow, outright passed out.

Now showing off the Madonna and Child in the Orthodox tradition across his back, the double-headed eagle on his right upper arm, the sailing ship with white sails on his left upper arm, and the seven pointed stars on his collarbones, he saw four other men blanch badly.

He laughed then, wondering how badly he could scare them shitless during training considering they knew what the monk meant.


	2. How Steve Met Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meeting Becca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was always the intended first little snippet that just never made it into Waking Dreams. I just never wrote it, like I hadn't written Bucky's enlistment through I knew exactly how they would go.

Steve had been still riding the high of meeting Bucky when his Ma took him to church on Sunday.

He’d made his confessions – he didn’t feel bad for kicking Lenny from down the block in the shin for calling one of his neighbors, a little redheaded girl named Sharlene, a freckled pig, though he had felt bad that the busted lip and new black eye he’d gotten before Bucky had shown up had made the other boy flail about in concern, and making his mother worry – but she hadn’t yet.

Like always when she needed a long moment to confess – she’d told him about how she was supposed to feel bad for calling men lots of bad names for being dumbasses and getting hurt and wasting precious medical supplies because they were big babies, and not say anything when she later saw their wives hurt badly because they beat them but not saying anything about being hurt because their husbands refused to waste the money to have them see a doctor, but she wasn’t, so she had to talk to the priest for a long time; he never did figure out why sometimes he would sometimes see those women in the apartment with his mother and then never again – she told him to go play out in front of the church.

He’d brought his sketchbook, his prize possession as his Ma had gotten it for him his last birthday and she’d spent good money to get him it, and had been sketching the other kids, practicing drawing people. He’d been drawing and erasing for an hour, trying to get the proportions right, when a little girl, maybe a year younger than him but already nearly a head taller, marched over to him.

She was frowning, and she was angrily tugging at her skirt, starting right in, “Baba Yaga is stuck in a tree, and _Mama_ says I can’t climb trees in this dress. I don’t know where my brother is, and none of the other boys are willing to help.”.

Steve was tucking his sketchbook in his jacket even before she finished, “I’ll help. Where’s Baba Yaga?”, and she smiled, pleased, grabbing his hand and tugging him off to the twisted little apple tree the priest tended to each morning, “Thank you! Baba Yaga is just a kitten, and she must be so scared so high up. I know I would be if I was so small.”.

He tried to keep up with her but was being all but dragged along because not only was she strong, but her longer legs were moving quickly in her eagerness to get her cat down.

She stopped in front of the tree, and really, it was not a very tall tree, but it was easily thrice his height, and there was a small dark long-haired cat in one of the highest branches, eyeing the bird’s nest further out. He eyed the cat, then the tree. Considering how twisted the tree was, there were lots of spots for him to step and clutch to climb up, but he wasn’t sure how well he could do it one-handed when bringing the cat back down.

The cat eyed them with a flat stare with its one eye, the other one and half of the ear closest gone from a scrap with a dog, and laid down on the branch after she saw the nest was empty.

Steve had gotten halfway up the tree, calling out, “Kitty, kitty please come closer.”, trying to reach up to the cat as the branch he was trying to shimmy up wasn’t much thicker than his leg, when there was a loud female voice, “ _OH MY GOD STEVE! GET DOWN RIGHT NOW!_ ”.

A moment later, the priest’s sister, a woman dedicated to her faith and just her faith, came rushing out, skirts raised up halfway up her calves.

Steve’s face scrunched up in stubbornness, still reaching out for the cat, who had flicked an ear at the woman but otherwise looked like it could care less about what was happening.

The branch he was on right then let out a loud _crack_.

He may have screamed a little as he fell.

Something broke his fall.

Or more accurately, _someone_ broke his fall.

He’d been half-caught, sprawled across Bucky who’d tried to catch him and half-failed. Bucky had sighed, grumbled something under his breath in a language he didn’t know and didn’t catch anyway, before raising an eyebrow, “Ya know, I was tellin’ my _Mama_ about you, and the priest overheard and told us you were Trouble. Capital T. Not because you were bad, but because you always were doing things your body couldn’t handle even when the spirit was willing. I should have known Trouble would have attracted Trouble, and you’d meet my sister Becca.”.

Becca didn’t look the least bit repentant for being called Trouble, even if she looked concerned over Steve, puffing up a bit defensively, “Baba Yaga was in trouble and I couldn’t find you. He was the only one willing to help.”.

Bucky gave her a flat look, then looked up at where the cat was just sitting, looking completely unconcerned as she licked her paw, “Yeah, trouble. Sure, whatever you say.”, before looking at Steve with a raised eyebrow, “I don’t think she realizes this, but that cat is a she-devil. She can take of herself quite fine without interference from us. There’s a reason _Mama_ named her Baba Yaga.”.


	3. How Steve Met Dum-Dum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title states - how Steve met Dum-Dum.  
> Or where a starving artist crosses paths with a circus strongman and they have a . . bit of a disagreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's been floating around since I posted the last chapter, but I hadn't written it until I took a break while waiting for a friend to get back to me about revisions regarding chapter eight of Shisou no Karasu.  
> Enjoy! I hope this short snippet makes you snicker.

Steve was clutching the ragged, half-faded half-smeared flyer as he rode the train out past Cooney Island, thinking this was his chance to earn a little coin. Doing the flyers for Ms. Clare’s was steady pay, but they had all found it was best to stash a little money away whenever they could for when winter hit because he always got hit hard and repeatedly during those cold months with ill after ill. If he was turned down, the only thing he had wasted was a little time as he hadn’t paid the pennies for the train ride.

He hoped he wasn’t turned down, but there was always the chance – even if Bucky had always been so firm in his belief that he would never get turned for an art gig ( ** _You’re a fucking amazing artist, Stevie, best I’ve ever seen, and one day the whole world will be trying to get a Steve Rogers original_** ).

For just a moment, he hesitated at the sight of the big tents, before steeling his spine and marching forward with his chin held high.

Nothing would come from being timid. Even if his spine was crooked and he only came up so high, he would not come slinking in half-afraid of being denied and ashamed for needing this job because he made his money drawing when all the other men worked hard physically demanding jobs and he couldn’t.

Just as he was pulling back the tent flap, it was thrown open and a big man stepped through and nearly ran him over, “Fuckin’ blighter, I’m a strongman, not a-.”.

Steve was knocked down with an ‘oomph’, and the man raised one hairy eyebrow up beneath the rim of his bowler hat, “What the fuck is a kid doing here as we’re setting up? Come back in the evening, kid, we’ll be ready for a show then.”, flapping one large hand in a universal gesture to scram.

He frowned heavily, “I’m not a kid!”, pleased at the surprise that flickered across the other man’s face at his voice even as he picked himself off the ground with the ease of someone who’d been knocked down a thousand times.

The man crossed his arms over his large chest, towering over him in his striped red-and-white leotard that disappeared into his brown trousers that almost ruined his ability to intimidate, “It don’t matter. The show’s not until tonight. Go away.”.

Steve jutted out his chin and held out the flyer, that beneath how it had faded away under the summer sun and washed out with a late spring rain, beneath the dirt and grime and crumpled edges, had not been a very good image of the circus in the first place, “I came to offer my skills as an artist. This flyer is fucking awful.”.

The man looked down at the skinny frame of the younger man, at how he reminded of the runt tiger cub his sweetheart was working on training when it had been trying to be particularly fierce but just looked like an overgrown fluff ball, and laughed, “I like your guts kid!”.

He held a hand for Steve to shake, “It’s good that you ain’t a nigger or yellow though, we might have had a problem with that type of attitude.”.

Only for Steve to narrow his eyes and grasped the taller man by the wrist to pull him forward just enough that he was a little off-balance and he raised his knee right into the bigger man’s crotch before he could react.

Steve held out a hand to the strongman curled up at his feet, big hand cupping his aching Johnson, breathe not quite knocked out of him, “I don’t like your racist attitude. The name’s Steve Rogers. Who do I need to talk to make your fucking flyers?”.

The man chuckled weakly as he pulled himself into a sitting position, eyeing Steve’s bony elbows and knees warily, “Irish spitfire, aren’t you? Got into a lot of fights with that noble attitude no doubt.”.

Steve offered him his hand to help up, and the man took it with a stronger chuckle, thinking it funny that the maybe-90-pounds-soaking-wet barely-five-foot man was trying to help and 200+ pound six-foot man to his feet, before pulling Steve down to his level, “Hanging out with you must be interestin’, I’m sure. I’m the strongman here, Timothy Dugan. But everyone calls me Dum-Dum.”.


	4. Steve and Dum-Dum's reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Tigrislilium's comment on the previous chapter.  
> Essentially, Steve and Dum-Dum meet in war.  
> Or, where Dum-Dum learns to stop talking shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dum-Dum deeply amused me here.  
> Something about writing assholes is deeply therapeutic, and should be recommended.
> 
> Also, the shit-talking is not given because those insults should die out. However, they are implied and stated maybe once, so WARNING. The schooling is left vague because otherwise . . Bucky would change the rating to beyond the options.

After Pearl Harbor, Timothy Dugan had left the circus behind and enlisted the next day.

He’d become among the first American soldiers fighting in this new war, and he’d given just as much shit as handed to him. The only difference being that aside from the officers who’d either be half-afraid at seeing his size or sneering at the fact he’d been apart of the _circus_ , words were typically the worst that was given back. Every time he’d talk shit about somebody, whether because of them specifically, or generalizing them with insulting stereotypes, or laughing at an off-color joke, he’d think about the pipsqueak in Brooklyn who’d taken him down a few pegs every time he’d said something he’d considered him being inappropriate.

The fact that more than half the time, the kid didn’t do much more than a fly to a bull, tended to make the situation hysterical. Which the kid more than made up for when, after being particularly pissed off about comments about Jews, Russians, the Roma, the Irish, the Deaf, the sickly, would go for cheap shots.

More than once had pint-sized fury kicked him in the Johnson for those comments.

He’d kept doing it at first because it really, truly was hilarious watching the kid charge at him with fists raised and try to bat at him, and not feel the punches because they were just that weak. So he taught the kid how to get leverage.

Then the punches had tickled.

So he got his beautiful sweetheart to teach the kid some tricks that worked for more their size.

He regretted it so much because his sweetheart didn’t hesitate to hit him where it hurt when he’d upset the kid.

He didn’t regret giving the kid a fighting chance when the kid was fighting like someone almost half-over bigger, particularly as every time he came over, he looked like he’d gone ten rounds and lost spectacularly. The kid had the self-preservation instincts of a snowball in hell, with a righteous streak bigger than the number of the Catholic Church’s followers, so he knew the kid was picking fights.

He also knew the only reason why the kid hadn’t died from picking those fights was another kid he could describe for ages, “Bucky”.

After a while, what fun he’d gotten from riling the kid up, because the talking shit and off-color jokes had lost their humor a while ago after he’d seen how it upset the kid and his sweetheart, was gone.

He almost got booted from the circus in the first days of December 1941 because he picked a fight with the ringmaster regarding his language towards some folk. Not that it mattered after Pearl Harbor, and he proposed to his sweetheart before going to enlist to fight overseas with the promise that when it was over, they would be married.

Yet, when he got to boot camp, he found himself talking shit just like all the other boys, because that was normal. They talked shit about him for being a strongman, so he talked shit about their parentage, called half of them fags.

It didn’t mean he didn’t feel a little guilty, and didn’t glance to the side to see if the kid would come charging out of nowhere telling him what he could do with that attitude. He may have found it funny that the kid hated people being talked shit about, but could curse worse than any sailor he ever met, then and later.

Not until he met “Bucky”, did he believe the kid’s assertions that his language was tame compared to his friend’s.

He did well in the 107th, and they all talked shit. They kept talking shit when they were assigned a new sergeant, promoted straight out of boot camp. Sergeant Barnes was sergeant all of two minutes before he gave them a shark grin and told them all that if they talked shit about any of the men in their unit, he wouldn’t bother with a formal reprimand, he’d just rip them a new one.

One man tried it, not wanting to take orders from a half-Russian.

Dum-Dum stopped talking shit after seeing the man burst into tears because Barnes was fucking scary when riled, and he’d been fighting for over a year in a hell-hole, and this kid hadn’t seen war yet, but he scared them, and they were all veterans.

Well, he stopped until Barnes scooped every which color he could find and got them in the 107th.

He tolerated the Jap.

He tolerated the Irish kid.

He tolerated the Italian.

He talked shit, and they gave shit back.

Barnes let them, because he let them talk shit just as bad as they got with no repercussions. They got to talk shit once before he started ripping into them himself.

Dum-Dum thought that made them the most bad-ass unit out there on the front lines, because once they found where everyone’s limits were, got all the fighting out between each other, they worked better as a unit. Tore them Nazi new ones.

Barnes let them talk shit to any new guy, as long as the new guy gave back.

Right up until the new guy was a radioman he swept up from a segregated unit.

He started talking shit, a grin on his face because he was expecting this new kid to give it right back.

Then Barnes started to rip into _him_.

It was straight up brutal, and he suddenly understood why the one guy had broken out into tears, because Barnes was _good_ at finding every single thing that hurt. He could hone in every sore spot you had in front of everyone and just tear you to shreds without you able to get a word in edgewise amongst his cursing. And God help you if you managed, and it was about Barnes’ color, his family, his fucking fairy face.

The new kid, a black, interrupted Barnes and told him that if he wanted to talk shit, he’d give shit.

Barnes had laughed, and said he didn’t doubt it, but this was _his_ unit, and he had enough hell-raisers at home, a dame and a best friend and a sister that were all Trouble. He was laying down the law, and if you talked shit about someone because of their color, then _he would fucking tear them a-fucking-part_.

His eyes had been on him, and the message had been clear.

He kept mum any time a new guy was brought in.

Occasionally as the other men talked shit, he wondered how the showdown between the kid and Barnes would go, because they were both righteous assholes when it suited them, with seriously foul mouths. He was rooting for the kid, honestly, because he would pay good money to see Barnes ripped into for once.

He knew Barnes would win that one though, because the kid would have charged in all hot-headed, picking a physical fight he couldn’t win, and Barnes would have taken him down in a heartbeat.

He played the scenario out a lot of times while they were captured.

He told Barnes about the kid in the hour before he volunteered himself to be the next experiment of the mad German doctor, and the man had just _laughed_.

Decades later, he still wasn’t sure what was more unnerving, that fucking _cackle_ Barnes had given at hearing about a dumb kid from Brooklyn with a snowball’s survival instincts in hell and a sky-wide righteous streak, or the fact that less than an hour later, a big version of the kid showed up demanding to know where “Bucky” – where Sergeant Barnes was, looking like he was going to tear the world apart unless Barnes was delivered back to him.

The kid had prowled away, and he’d not been able to give it more than a second’s thought as they’d fought their way out of the base, before they’d gotten reunited with the two, smiling tiredly and way too close to each other to be friends.

He kept quiet because the kid had quite literally tore his way deep across enemy lines on the minuscule chance Barnes was alive, and you respected that kind of devotion.

He kept quiet until the kid got talking, until they stopped and Barnes started ripping into the kid about what the hell he’d been thinking. And the kid just _laughed_.

Hands down, he found that the most unnerving thing of his life.

Barnes was ripping him a new one that had made grown men cry in minutes, not holding back in the least, and the kid was just looking at him fondly, laughing at how Barnes was still “Bucky”.

The two kept interrupting each other as they described how they knew each other, because some bastard asked how the hell they knew each other, and all he could think was “OF COURSE THE TWO RIGHTEOUS BASTARDS KNOW EACH OTHER!”.

It was silent as he realized he’d said that out loud, before the two proceeded to tear into him _with a vengeance_.

Scariest thing in the world, that. Two Brooklynites cussing you out behind enemy lines after escaping from a Hydra base, calling you every name in the book and then some new ones, getting up in arms because the other was called a bastard. He pitied anyone that every _truly_ insulted the other, because both were a force to be trifled with. Not a word could be gotten in for two solid hours, as they marched out, almost until they back on friendly territory.

Still, it was mildly hilarious, because every other sentence one of them would insist that their mothers had been married when they were born.

His shit-talking was from then on reserved for those that he fought, because the wrath of Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes was no small thing and not worth it.


	5. "I was a male war bride"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jarvis was a male war bride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came to me a couple of days ago, in a discussion of older movies, and I mentioned a favorite black-and-white: "I was a male war bride". Absolutely beautiful film on netflix, would recommend it.  
> You don't have to see it to understand, but that's where the premise for this came from.
> 
> I cracked up at work because when I mentioned the film, my mind went straight to "Hey, wasn't Jarvis technically an English immigrant . . and Ana was Military Intelligence . . hmmmm, LIGHTBULB! JARVIS WAS ANA'S WAR BRIDE!".  
> Hence, it had to be written.

“What do you mean Jarvis was denied re-entry to New York?”

Howard found himself just staring at Ana, and for more than how he could see a shadow of a dead friend in her face, before taking a calculated step away, trying to not draw attention to it with how she was glaring at the floor.

Her eyebrows were pinched in that particular way he remembered her brother doing when he was thinking ‘ _what the fuck are those damn bastards doing?!_ ’, “They said that with the war effectively over, all foreign parties involved were to go home. Edwin won’t be extradited because your request to sponsor a work-visa for him is in the works, but the immigration officer said that could over a year before it goes through with all the applications submitted in the last month.”.

He took a step further away when her face took on an expression he knew well from her brother, ‘ _the fucking bastards thinking fucking red-tape means fucking anything to me_ ’, “The fucking bastards are going to keep him at Ellis Island with everyone else in quarantine there, before he gains temporary citizenship until his papers are either denied or accepted. A _fucking_ month.”.

He made sure to put his work-bench between them, “Have you spoken to Jarvis about this?”, thinking of when Bucky had flipped a table in outrage when somebody had tried to tell him that family or a wife were the only ones allowed to see an injured Steve.

Howard very carefully didn’t think of how someone looking a _lot_ like Ana, but not Ana, with short dark hair, had come charging in behind Peggy _in a dress_ , demanding to see _Stevie_ shortly after said table-flipping. It was a moment that had caused him endless amusement because Bucky was _in a dress_ , even if he was careful to never say anything where anyone else could hear because he knew if anyone put two and two together about how close the two were, he didn’t even want to think about what could have happened, but now made him sad.

He occasionally wondered what would have happened if they’d survived the war and had been found out, and if that meant that love could be love, mostly when he drunk to an amount even he admitted was an excess.

Ana thinned her lips, before looking contemplative, “Da thought – hoped, really – that Bucky would fall in love over seas because he had finally realized that Bucky wasn’t going to bring home Steph, and looked into that rumor that returning soldiers could bring their foreign wives home. They were called ‘war brides’.”.

A sharp grin that left no doubt who her brother was came to her face, eyes flecked with gold, “They never fucking said that the soldiers were men and their brides women. It was just fucking assumed.”.

Howard got what she was thinking, stared at her for a moment, pulled out the bottle of scotch he’d hidden away for moments he needed to get shit-faced, and took a swing before responding, “You want to bring _Jarvis_ home as a _war bride_? Would they even allow a _male war bride_?”.

She shrugged, but her eyes were still too sharp to give off a devil-may-care look, “Not like it can fucking hurt. The bastards.”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like this premise.  
> I may work on another part or two after I watch the movie again, because the sequence of where the man in the movie has to keep introducing himself as a war bride is hysterical, and I imagine Jarvis doing that and cackle.


	6. War Bride, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation (Conclusion?) of "I was a male war bride"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a look at Ana and Jarvis.

Jarvis sighed as he was released from quarantine, one of the Americans assigned to keep potential immigrants there, eying him with a grin, “So, a fella and his dame came by demanding that we release you, her war bride. Got yourself quite the catch there, being the side-piece of that dame.”.

He was almost glad the man was seeing that to _him_ , and not Ana, even as he winced at their crude thoughts, because Ana would have stomped on the man’s feet with her heels then kicked him in the crotch before hissing that he was her fiancé.

He was _very_ glad that Ana’s sister, Becca, or her brother, James, hadn’t heard.

He’d heard stories about the two, more James than Becca, that said they wouldn’t tolerate _any_ disrespect to their family. Ana hadn’t been the least bit disturbed when she’d described that her brother would be the one she wanted approval from, that if he ever treated her bad, ‘Bucky would beat you as bad as that fucker who wailed on Stevie, to the point of risking death’. Ana had thought Becca would just take one of her sister Evie’s wrenches to his knees in contrast.

He may have stepped on the man’s heel before slipping a foot in front of the unbalanced man so that he tripped and fell when he started to leer at Ana, dressed in her best dress with his mother’s necklace around her neck.

Jarvis smiled at her, stepping into the hug she rushed him for, “Ana, darling, I see you found a way to bring me home earlier than expected.”.

She was grinning against his shoulder, clinging to him, and unbeknown to him, glaring at the man who’d escorted Jarvis with golden eyes when it had looked like he was going to say something _rude_ , “Of course! Any Barnes makes sure their sweethearts come home,”. Her voice was quiet and her grip tightened as she thought of her brother and his love, speaking into his shoulder so softly that he barely heard her, “Or neither come home at all.”.

Jarvis hugged her back just as tightly, not understanding what she was thinking of, only that it made her sad, “I came home, Ana. Thanks to you.”, smiling down on her hair, “After all, I was your male war bride.”, wanting to make her smile again.

Ana laughed at her British gentleman, who said that with a stiff upper lip and pride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and- well, sweet isn't exactly the word, is it?  
> Melancholy and bittersweet are probably better descriptions for Ana here.


	7. Leading Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5 times where Peggy is considered the handler (caretaker) of the Commandoes +1 where she is one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been thinking on this one the last couple of days, got started on my little self-made 5+1 prompt, and finished it in a couple of hours.
> 
> It amused me. Hope it amuses you!

Peggy just looked at Steve, and the six men behind him.

He’d debriefed her on what had happened after he’d _jumped from a plane behind enemy lines_ , and she’d seen him lead the formerly-captured members of the 107th – and other stragglers from other units – back to base.

She’d known that he’d gone to the bar where many of those men were drinking to blur the memories of their captivity in hopes of convincing a few to assist in his (mostly self-appointed) mission to take down Hydra. He’d told her that he wanted Bucky, no compromises unless Bucky wanted to go home to Brooklyn, and that he had his eye on a few of the other men.

She had not expected to see – though she knew she should have, considering how open-minded, and accepting Steve was – a member of the Royal Marines, a French Legionnaire explosives expert, a Japanese immigrant medic, a black college-educated trilingual radioman, and a former circus strongman.

Peggy sighed softly, resisting the urge to pinch her nose to foil the headache she could feel coming on, and reached for her now-long cold tea to fortify herself, ignoring the sympathetic look her fellow Englishman gave her, “I’ll get started on the paperwork to approve this.”.

Reaching out and grabbing Steve by the ear, “And you’re going to help me Rogers,”, leaving unspoken but very clear, _so help me God-dammit_.

Steve just winced and sheepishly smiled, letting her pull him away by his ear as the one she recognized as Bucky sighed, pinched his nose, and followed, “Do I fucking want to know, Steve?”.

~

_1_

Peggy had been carefully editing her SSR report about the newly-dubbed ‘Howling Commandoes’ to remove how their last mission to evacuate a nearby town of Italian civilians had morphed into combat against two squads of Hydra soldiers because Steve had heard an Italian woman curse Hydra from _at least a half-kilometer away_ , when she’d been summoned by the General.

He was looking long-suffering when she came in, saluted, and said, “Sir?”.

She’d seen that standing on the other side of the tent was a grumpy looking Bucky, and a mildly-chastised Steve, but with his direction looked closer, “Sergeant Barnes marched in here about twenty minutes ago, _wondering_ ,” letting her read between the lines that he meant _demanding to know_ , “if it was our intent to starve Captain Rogers.”.

Peggy watched as Bucky cursed at Steve beneath his breath, poking roughly at the softly-growling stomach of Steve.

He forwent the highly-sought after coffee sitting next to him to reach for a flask that was against Army regulations, “As the attaché to Project Rebirth, and the most knowledgeable about the side-effects of the serum given to Captain Rogers barring the deceased Dr. Erskine, what would be the recommended ration intake for Captain Rogers?”.

She eyed how Steve poked Bucky back, at his own growling stomach, and thought of the report sitting on her desk that she’d kept out of record of Bucky’s unedited account of his time as a Hydra experiment, “At least double, if not triple the amount regular soldiers get.”, shooting for the upper range because she knew Steve would share with Bucky out of guilt, and she couldn’t request the same for Bucky based on her suspicions without proving something she didn’t want on paper for the man’s sake, so she thought it best they be lean rather than one starve.

~

_2_

Peggy wasn’t sure how she felt to be summoned to the General’s tent again.

As it was, every time the Howling Commandoes were stationed at base with the rest of the 107th – who had opted to stay in the fight against Hydra, rotating between being a secret misinformation campaign of troop movements, appearing to potentially be more super-soldiers, and regular soldiers – she was called to the General’s tent at least four times over the course of at longest, three days.

She wasn’t sure how she felt that 85% of the time, Steve was right in the middle of the reason why she was summoned. (The other ten percent was because of Howard and Bucky, and how one’s enthusiasm fed into the other inventing with enthusiasm, and the inevitable chaos that followed.)

It was clear the moment that she stepped into the tent and saw the other five members of the Howling Commandoes that this was the other 5%.

Peggy found herself frowning in a mix of worry and annoyance at the four bruised men, three of them smelling like piss and alcohol, while the fifth pinched his nose and seemed to be pleading to the heavens for assistance.

She directed her attention to the General, “Sir?”, who just waved her off as he scowled at his battle plans while taking a hearty swing of his drink.

She sighed, not surprised the man needed a moment, because Steve had managed to gather the most rambunctious, rebellious, trouble-making group possible. It was an impressive group on paper when Jim’s and Gabe’s races were ignored, then miraculous when accounted for, but in person was a whole other story. They’d have reason to split them up if there issues between them, but the seven men got on fabulously, particularly considering that on paper, their relationships should have made them hate each other only marginally less than the Axis.

Only, they were a Magnet for Trouble.

She was half-horrified, half in awe at how they _always_ managed to take the simplest situation and find the worst possible possibility to complicate it all.

This was no different; when a Look at her fellow Englishman, as the de-facto leader when both Bucky and Steve were absent, had him turning away from the roof of the tent to look at her, nearly flinch, then speak, “We were minding our own business, I swear to God Ms. Carter. Not a single intent to get into trouble,”, kicking Jaq when the Frenchman mumbled something under his breath she didn’t quite catch in French that sounded almost like _You maybe, with your crush on our fine lady,_ to shut him up, “When we overheard a soldier saying Sergeant Barnes must have _fondue’d_ ,”, using the term that Steve for whatever reason used in place of fuck, as in actual sex and not just cursing, “his way to his rank.”.

She frowned, and Gabe took up the tale, covering Jaq’s mouth when he started to mumble angrily under his breath in French _Said he took it up the ass by every superior above him-_ , “So we stepped in, interrupted the little drinking party, and told them to shut up about the Sergeant.”.

Jim looked no less happy than Jaq, even if he quickly covered Jaq’s mouth when Gabe drew his hand back sharply after it was licked but not quite quick enough to muffle everything, _Those motherfuckers know nothing-!_ , “It might have devolved into a brawl when the soldiers took offense to use dumping their drinks in the latrine.”.

She sighed, honestly not surprised, but happy that Steve hadn’t heard that-

She paled a little when she remembered _Steve had heard a woman whisper-curse in Italian roughly 500 meters away in the midst of a Hydra village-invasion_ , before looking at the General with urgency bright in her eyes, who waved them off, “Carter, punish them as you see fit. I’ll accept whatever as long as they’re out of my hair for a few days.”.

She rushed out at a dignified walk, with the five following her like eager ducklings, “Ms. Carter, what-?”.

Her voice was sharp, “I’ll consider the punishment taken care of if you find Steve before he finds that soldier, and _keep him away_. I’ll find Bucky.”.

The five paled to match her pallor, before scurrying off throughout the camp in search of their missing leader.

~

_3_

Peggy gave into the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose as the seven members of the Howling Commandoes stood in front of her, looking sheepish – other than Bucky who was giving Steve an earful about acceptable risks.

She waved off the French Resistance officer who’d looked to her to deal with the seven like they were wayward children and she their mother, not looking at them for a long moment.

She didn’t even know what to think seeing three of them dressed badly as women, Dum-Dum wearing only a pair of pants as he looked up at the heavens for answers, Jaq in a Hydra uniform, and Bucky looking somewhere between pissed off and murderous while clutching the Hydra jacket of Jaq’s new uniform over as much of a naked Steve as possible while glaring at any wandering eyes.

Peggy said nothing as she led the seven to a tent where she kept spare uniforms for them after the _seventh_ time two or three of them had ended up in something else – or nothing – in the course of a mission, and that somehow, nearly more missions than not, Steve ended up with torn, ripped, or straight-up _missing_ pieces of _his_ uniform.

She ignored how Bucky was all but glued to Steve’s back to hide his _fine_ ass as he held the jacket up around Steve’s waist, ignored how Steve couldn’t help but look more than a little pleased with himself even as a bright blush extended from his ears down his chest to below the poor jacket hiding his modesty.

It wasn’t worth the breath to try and tell the two that they weren’t exactly being very subtle right then.

~

_4_

Peggy just stared at the nurse who’d come pleading to her to get the Howling Commandoes to stay in their cots and _stop moving through the camp spreading their sickness to try and check on the others_.

She held up a hand, poured a cuppa from her precious, precious stock of tea that the General had started providing her with as a gift after the third time the seven boys-in-mens’-bodies got in trouble, and took a long drink before speaking, “Has anyone considered just putting all their tents next to each other until at least they’re not contagious?”.

The woman winced, “The soldiers by Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes don’t want Privates Morita and Jones near them.”, flinching at the cold look that came to the other woman’s face, “Racist pricks. What about moving Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes?”.

The nurse chewed on her lip, “There isn’t room by Privates Morita and Jones for both Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes’ tents. There isn’t room anywhere in camp for five tents.”.

Peggy pinched her nose, wondering what it was about men that made it so difficult for them to share space, “What about four tents?”.

The nurse looked confused, so Peggy explained, “Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes were roommates back in Brooklyn, I’m sure that they won’t mind sharing a tent if it means that they can be camped with their men when with the rest of the base.”, conveniently leaving out that she was sure that the two were fine – would even be goddamned happy – if they were ‘forced’ to share a bed.

She frowned, “But all upper ranks get their own tent? Wouldn’t they be upset?”.

Peggy took a deep breath, feeling that headache that had formed after finding out that Jim had ignored his own symptoms of a cold to run herd on Jaq and James and thus collapsed with a fever, grow.

For a moment she was glad – and annoyed – that both Bucky and Steve were healthy as good be – even if she knew Bucky was all but treating Steve like he was ill, having too many ingrained habits that said the moment the weather turned any which way, Steve would get sick or be hurting.

Peggy took a sip of her tea, “I frankly don’t care. If they want to all be together, then they can keep mum on their complaints. Move them.”, dismissing the nurse with a wave of her hand as she returned to re-wording her response to the latest ‘request’ for Bucky to go on sniper missions by himself as something other than ‘Bloody hell, no!’, except more diplomatically than ‘Go harass some other soldier’.

~

_5_

Peggy just stared at where Bucky looked unrepentant, arms crossed over his chest as he glowered down at Steve, “I fucking heard you _sneeze_ , you punk! That was a _I’m-a-fucking-dumbass-and-didn’t-fucking-bundle-up-like-I-was-damn-well-told-and-now-caught-a-cold_ sneeze. It was fucking loud!”.

She looked at the uncomfortable soldier who’d dragged her this way with the complaint that Bucky was being loud, _AGAIN_ , in his chastising of Steve, and had found where a lot of the missing blankets in camp had gone.

They had formed Mount Rogers, as Bucky had bundled Steve up with blanket after blanket until the blonde was wrapped in a cocoon, then covered in more blankets so that only his eyes and blonde hair stuck out.

Peggy was still in fearful awe of how Bucky could run rough-shod over Steve and more-or-less bully him into getting well, staying safe, being healthy. They traded tips now and then, but Bucky was the undisputed master in this – clearly evident by how Steve was more-or-less meekly accepting this.

Other than how he was rolling his eyes- “Don’t you fucking dare to roll your damn blue eyes at me, you Punk!”.

Steve’s eyes were fond even if his eyebrows were pulling together and she could recognize Steve’s _I’m-going-to-be-obstinate_ face, “But Bucky-“ “Don’t you fucking-“ “I haven’t been sick-“ “That doesn’t fucking mean you can’t-!” “Since I got the serum!” “You fucking _sneezed_! Loudly!”.

Peggy wondered what the hell she’d done to be thought that she could run herd over these two.

“It was barely a sniffle, Bucky!”

“I could fucking hear it clear as a fucking bell twenty feet away!”

“It was dust!”

She interrupted before Bucky could wind himself up for a comeback, recognizing the look on his face that meant in a moment or two he was going to be shouting in Russian and pushing and pulling Steve to cover before force-feeding him while railing on and on (supposedly) about how Steve was a dumb punk, and it was a miracle that he’d lived as long as he had and he wouldn’t risk that fucking _crow_ coming back, “Sergeant Barnes, I expect all the stolen blankets to be returned to where you _found_ them,”.

All three of them knew she meant _snuck around like a fucking ghost of a cat and stole_ when she said _found_.

Bucky’s lips thinned, “In an hour. I don’t care about the ones you stole from your teammates.”, before his eyes reflected a manic gleam as he recognized unspoken permission to take whatever – other than Jim’s actual medical supplies – from their teammates if he stopped stealing things from around base, “As long as the rest is returned.”.

He nodded, stuck his hand in the back of Mount Rogers and dragged Steve out, pulling him behind him with the first five blankets still cocooning him tightly, leaving the other twenty or so on the ground for a moment. Only once he’d gotten Steve settled with soup – from where Peggy didn’t dare ask, though she suspected he’d hunted it down during the last night when he was on the late watch – he started replacing the blankets where they’d belonged.

She left, gently shooing the soldier who’d come and got her, along, “Now, that little argument is nothing to worry about . .”.

~

_+1_

Peggy let Bucky wrap her hand from where she’d bloodied her knuckles after punching Senator Pierce, as General Phillips looked at her, sighed, then took a hearty swing of his flask, “You really are one of the Howling Commandoes, aren’t you Peggy?”.

He looked despondent for a moment when he was able to tip his flask upside down and it be empty other than a drop, “I understand why you punched the bastard,”, before looking at where Bucky still looked murderous, “and we should consider it lucky that it was _you_ , and not Sergeant Barnes.”, still pissed off that the bastard had flown into their camp, demanding to see Steve and tried to convince the uncomfortable blonde to go back on the sing-and-dance circuit, before getting _way_ too close.

Phillips reached under the table where his map sat, and passed around a half-filled bottle of whiskey, “At least with you, we can claim you don’t like men feeling up your teammate. You do have a bit of a record of being protective over friends. Barnes just has a record of assault on men who make Rogers uncomfortable or hurt.”, after refilling his flask and taking a long drink.

He raised his flask as the two held up their makeshift glasses, “To the men,”, looking at Peggy, “And _woman_ , of the Howling Commandoes, in the defense of their captain.”.


End file.
